


one song (a song about love)

by smolqueernerds



Category: The Ever Afters Series - Shelby Bach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Siren, Bisexual Female Character, F/F, Lesbian Character, POV Bisexual Character, character death is only implied but still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 09:39:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8885929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolqueernerds/pseuds/smolqueernerds
Summary: AU in which Millie lives in a small fishing village and Solange is a siren.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [was, not is](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6441271) by [baekjiheon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/baekjiheon/pseuds/baekjiheon). 



One chill February day, on the top floor of an old lighthouse full of rotting timbers and creaking staircases, a child is born.  
Her faint cries are overtaken by the squalling of the ever-present gulls. A wisp of yellow hair adorns her head, and though her eyes are blue, they will darken to brown before a year passes. Her mother names her Mildred, after a long-dead great-aunt. It is a plain, sturdy, serviceable name. It will suit well enough. But when she is older, the girl will shorten it to Millie, though only in her own head.

Time passes, as it has a habit of doing. A baby grows into a girl grows into a young woman. She changes; the world around her does not. This is the way of things, and there is no use complaining.

 _Time working is time well spent. Time wishing is time wasted._ This is Millie’s mother’s favorite proverb. Her daughter grows up hearing it daily.

Millie hears, but she does not listen as well as her mother might hope. Still,she gets her work done on time, and her mother is satisfied, for she thinks that the only danger of wishes is that they get in the way of work to be done.

What neither of them realize is the other danger of wishes; that they rarely come true in the way you expected.

On one evening no different than any other, Millie lays awake in her hammock, a chill salt breeze blowing through the broken windows and teasing the ends of her hair. She clenches her teeth to keep them from chattering, wraps her arms around her shoulders, and sends up wordless prayers to unknown deities, begging for something more, something else, something away from all this.

When she falls asleep, she dreams of her mother standing over her, smiling, singing to her - a thing she hasn't done in years. But instead of the lullaby her mother used to sing, a repetitive three-note ditty about fishing boats, this song soars and dips and trembles in ways Millie has never heard before.

When she wakes, her mother is gone, but the song is not.

It's far softer, now, barely louder than her own heartbeat. But it's still there, and when Millie throws open her shutters, she can almost tell which breeze the music is drifting in on.

She descends the lighthouse steps with barely a sound, though once she stumbles and narrowly avoids breaking through the step. Once she's outside, it's a short distance to the cove where her mother's rarely-used dinghy bobs in the surf, tethered to the shore by rock and rope. The moonlight is bright, the sea smooth as glass,  and rowing has never been this easy. The song grows a little louder with every stroke of the oars,

A mist descends. Well, _descends_ isn't the right word. It's not there, and then it is. No interim. In the space of an eyeblink, Millie's surroundings are swallowed by grayness. But the song is as clear as ever, and there's enough moonlight to see by, and she rows onward, her blood humming.

The singer is close; she knows it with a bone-deep certainty. It's a girl's voice singing, clear as a bell, but it doesn't belong to a girl like her, with chapped lips and tangled hair and the coppery stink of fish entrails on her hands that never comes out all the way no matter how hard she scrubs. But it's not the voice of a sneering, stuck-up town girl, either, and those are the only two kinds of girl Millie knows.

Then the fog lifts, and she sees it.

It’s an outcropping of black stone barely breaking the surface of the ocean; too small to be properly called an island, too large to be a mere rock. And perched directly in its center is -

A girl, of a kind Millie’s never seen before.

The proud, clean lines of her nose and jaw, the sweep of her eyelashes and the slenderness of her throat, are enough to make her the most elegant girl Millie’s ever seen, lovely enough to make every town girl at school expire of envy on the spot. But at a spot just below that slender neck, white skin dissolves into whiter feathers.

Her wings, grand and arcing, are spread as wide as a ship’s sails, her downy chest puffed out, her eyes tightly closed in seeming ecstasy; it seems as though she’s about to take flight, but though several long moments pass, her taloned feet remain planted firmly on the rock.

The winged girl reaches the end of a long, piercing high note, and before her brain can catch up to her body and inform it that this is an idiotic thing to do, Millie starts clapping.

The girl’s eyes snap open, revealing pale blue irises.

“Sorry!” Millie yelps, wincing at the shrill, harsh sound of her own voice after the impossible beauty of the girl’s song. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to - you sounded so - I’ll leave now.”

“No!” The winged girl’s voice is every bit as pure and sweet in speech as in song. “No, don’t leave! You just startled me. I’ve never had a visitor before. Please, don’t go yet.”

“Okay,” Millie says stupidly, and then clamps her mouth shut, cheeks burning in shame.

“My name is Solange,” the other girl says.

Solange. It’s strange and lovely and exactly the kind of name a girl like this should have.

“What’s yours?”

“Mildred. Millie.”

“Well, Mildred-Millie,” Solange says, her tone light and teasing, “what brings you so far out so late at night?”

“Your singing,” Millie replies honestly, her cheeks miraculously cooling under Solange’s gaze. “I had to know where it was coming from.”

“And now that you know, are you satisfied?”

Honesty and curiosity overtake good manners and common sense. “No.”

“Do you have questions you wish to ask of me?”

“Yes.”

“Then ask, and I shall answer.”

Millie fumbles with her words for a moment, but manages to stutter out, “Where did you come from? What are you doing here?”

“Ah.” Solange’s brow creases for the briefest of seconds. “Now that is a bit of a long story.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want!” Millie exclaims hastily.

“Thank you for the offer,” Solange says, “but I am perfectly willing. It’s only that I don’t wish to take up too much of your time.”

“I have plenty of time,” Millie assures her, shocked that a girl like this one would think that _she_ could be an inconvenience to _her_.

“Once upon a time, there was a girl who lived in a grand manor house on the outskirts of a bustling town,” Solange begins. “And for many years, her life was a peaceful and prosperous one, for her family had both old blood and old money, and there are few things that can be denied to persons in possession of such a fortuitous combination. But all good things must come to an end, because her family was deeply divided, two branches each warring against the other. It was an ancient feud, one that the girl had no part in, but she could not erase the taint of her blood. The custom was that, for everything stolen from one side, something of equal value must be stolen from the other. An eye for an eye, a fortune for a fortune, a child for a child. And after her cousin, a boy with whom she had once played on the lawns of the family estate, had a tincture of hemlock and belladonna slipped into his hot cocoa, the girl’s uncle snatched her on her way home from a piano lesson and whisked her to an island that was imbued with a most strange and ancient enchantment - if anyone set foot upon its shores, they would change into a siren, an immortal beast, half bird and half human. I could not wish that on anyone. The pain of that moment, when - ” She falters, as if she cannot bear to go any further.

“I’m so sorry,” Millie says softly. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Why? It’s in no way your fault,” Solange says. “In fact, this conversation is quite the most pleasant thing to happen to me since the transformation. Thank you for coming.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Millie tells her, borrowing a phrase from a dusty old book on etiquette that she briefly flipped through before her mother threw it into a pile of kindling.

Solange’s teeth gleam in the moonlight as she smiles. “May I, perchance, beg a favor?”

“Anything!” Millie blurts out. “I mean, go ahead. I mean, yes.”

“Tell me, where did you come from? And what are you doing here?”

"Once upon a time, there was a girl who lived in an old lighthouse on the outskirts of a fishing village," Millie says haltingly, trying to emulate Solange’s speech patterns. "She grew up weaving nets and patching sailcloth and salting fish and walking two miles morning and evening just to get to a school where everyone teased her because they had fancy dresses and hair bows and she had sand in her boots and salt on her skin, and every day they stole her lunch and threw it in the trash and if she complained to the teacher she was punished for making trouble. And she grew up bored and angry and wishing for something different. And -” She can feel a flush rising on her cheeks. "One day, she found it."  
"What was it?" Solange asks, as if she is enthralled.  
"It was - a girl. A strange and beautiful one, with feathers and wings. And she smiled at the first girl and told her a story and the first girl didn't want to leave the second girl, because - because she was the nicest person she'd ever met."  
"You have to leave, eventually," Solange says softly. “But you can come back. Only if you wish!” she adds hastily, hopping from foot to foot and tucking her chin into the feathers of her chest. “You don’t need to keep me company.”

“But I do wish,” Millie says earnestly, leaning forward over the edge of the rowboat. “I want to talk to you again.”  
Solange’s smile is slow and small, but it sparks something in Mildred’s heart that she can feel glowing all through the long journey home.

 

Every night after that, Millie lies awake, waiting to hear the siren’s call, guiding her back to the shores of that hidden isle. She perfects the art of slipping down the stairs, picking her way across the rocky beach, and pushing off in the boat. Her arms, never scrawny, swell with new muscle from the nightly exertion; and somehow, despite the lack of sleep, she is never even tired at school the next day.

After the first night, Millie is the one who tells the stories, even though she has nothing interesting to say - but Solange assures her that simply hearing Millie’s voice is a delight, and so Millie tells her all the little mundanities of her day; what she saw on her walk to school, what her lessons were about, the names the other children toss about when she is near and scrawl on her desk and the pages of her textbooks.

“Pay them no mind,” Solange instructs her. “They’re merely jealous of how extraordinary you are.”

‘But I’m not,” Millie protests, her cheeks warming.

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course.”

Solange leans near enough that Millie can feel her breath tickling her ear. “Then believe me when I say you are a marvel.”

 

Sometimes Millie brings her things, usually detritus she’s picked up on the beaches - prettily formed shells, colorful pieces of seaglass. Solange exclaims over each one, remarking on its aesthetic qualities, turning it over and over in her claws before setting it atop the careful little pile of treasures behind her that grows with every one of Millie’s visits. Sometimes, Millie even sings for Solange, and Solange brings her wingtips together in her best attempt at clapping after every ditty and ballad.

Once, Millie makes the journey not in her ratty old nightgown, but in a brand new dress, bought by her mother with much grumbling after Millie’s wrists began to poke nearly five inches out of the sleeves of an older one. It’s the pale pink of a rosebud, with long skirts and a snug waist and a neckline that dips just below her collarbone, and when Solange sees it, she whispers “Oh, Millie,” in a breathy tone of rapture.

“Do you like it?” Millie asks shyly.

“It’s gorgeous!” Solange cranes her neck. “Can you stand up?”

Carefully, Millie rises to her feet, swiveling slightly to one side and then the other so Solange can take it all in.

“I used to have dresses like that,” Solange says, wistfulness creeping into her tone. “I didn’t look nearly so nice in them, of course.”

“Don’t be silly!” Millie protests. “I’m sure you looked nicer than I do!”

“You’re always so kind to me,” Solange says. “I suppose I miss it, a bit. I miss wearing dresses. I miss being beautiful.”

“But you’re ever so much more beautiful than I am,” Millie tells her earnestly.

“Don’t be silly,” Solange says. “You’re quite the loveliest girl I’ve ever known, in each and every way.”

“Well, we’re clearly not getting anywhere with this,” Millie says, and is rewarded by the ring of Solange’s laugh across the water.

 

“Is there anyone you love?” Solange asks on a night full of starlight.

“You,” Millie replies from where she’s sprawled in the boat, chin propped up on her elbow. “And my mother. She’s an orphan, and I never knew my father, so that’s about it.”

Solange laughs softly. “I didn’t mean that, exactly. I meant - is there anyone you look at when they’re not watching you, or that you think about at night? That kind of love.”

Millie pushes herself up to sit cross-legged, facing Solange. “Why do you ask?”

Solange’s cheeks redden slightly. Millie was unaware she was even capable of blushing. “It’s only - if I’d stayed human, really human, they would have married me off. He would have been rich, or titled, or both, and I would have lived in his house and bossed his servants and bore his children for the rest of my days.”

Something sharp digs into Millie’s stomach, and she looks down expecting to see a nail or a broken plank, but there’s nothing. “Are you sad you never got to do that?”

“Quite the opposite, actually,” Solange admits. “I never wanted that. I was scared of it.”

“Why?” Millie asks. “Did you think he’d mistreat you?”

“Not even that,” Solange whispers, looking down. “I just couldn’t imagine having to love a man.”

The pause is almost too small to hear, but Millie notices, and her heartbeat quickens strangely. “Who did you want to love, then?”

“No one in particular, not really. There wasn’t even anyone I especially liked.” Her blush darkens. “But there were some girls who were….very nice to look at.”

Millie thinks of the broad-shouldered town boys and the slim-hipped town girls, the shapes of eyes and lips, and says, “I think I understand.”

  


When Millie makes her final journey, she’s wearing the nightgown. She considered the pink dress, but even though she knows she’ll never get the chance to wear it again, she still didn’t want to rip it. Maybe her mother can sell it at market. She’ll miss her mother, a bit.

“Hello, Millie,” Solange says when she sees her, breaking off her song, but before she can draw breath to speak again, Millie cuts her off brazenly.

“Solange, I’ve been thinking about this, and I want to stay with you forever. Really forever. And I know you said it hurts, but I’m not scared. Because I love you, Solange, and I’m strong enough, I know I am, and we can go flying together and I’ll never have to leave you again.”

And before Solange can speak, Millie stands up and jumps out of the rowboat, stumbling briefly in the shallow water before flinging herself forward onto the rock.

Her feet meet ground, then her knees, and she scrambles upright, breathing hard. She’s ready to plant her feet, square her shoulders, pass through the pain and come out as something awful yet miraculous.

But it doesn’t come. She swallows hard, clenches her fists, stares into Solange’s wide eyes, closer to her than they’ve ever been, and it doesn’t come.

“When does it start?” she asks, voice shaking. “How long do I have to wait?”

“Oh, Millie,” Solange says, and reaches out to brush a wing tenderly across Millie’s cheek. “Little fisher girl. So lovely, so sweet, so so so stupid.”

She pounces.

Stone digs into Millie’s back as Solange’s claws dig into her shoulders, and all the breath whooshes out of her lungs. She wants to cry out, to plead, to ask why on earth she would do this, but she has no voice for these pleas. She can only stare upward, her heart slamming into her ribs like a desperate prisoner.

“I lied to you,  Millie,” Solange says. Her grip tightens, and skin breaks under her talons. “I lied to you over and over and over because I was desperate, because I was bored, because I could tell you anything and you would believe me. Would you like to know the truth now?”

Feebly, Millie nods.

“Once upon a time, there was a girl who lived in a grand manor house on the outskirts of a bustling town,” Solange whispers to her. “She grew up sipping tea and embroidering handkerchiefs and arranging flowers and smiling until her cheeks hurt and dancing until her bones ached, and if she put one toe out of line there would be no supper for three nights, because her parents wanted a pretty porcelain doll instead of a daughter. And she grew up bored and angry and wishing for something different. And one day, she found it.”

“What was it?” Millie croaks.

“It was - a book. A big thick leather-bound book hidden deep in the cellar behind a keg of ale that the girl had to run downstairs to get, because there was a tremendous party that evening and absolutely everyone was being made to help. And hidden between its pages were strange and wonderful secrets that the girl pored over late into the night for many nights to come. Soon, she knew how to change daisies into daffodils, water into wine, cats into dogs or mice or birds. She even learned how to change a human being into another creature entirely - creatures that weren’t even supposed to exist.

“This, the girl knew, was what she had been looking for her entire life. She was tired of being a doll. Instead, she would be something wild and free and monstrous. And so she learned the words she needed, and she found the ingredients she needed, and when the time was right, she shaped herself into a being of beak and talons and feathered wings. A being that wasn’t made for tea or embroidery or dancing, but singing and soaring and rending flesh. A siren.

“The girl, who wasn’t really a girl any longer, spread her wings and flew above the town, crowing in triumph to the puny, quivering folk below her. In retrospect, it wasn’t her brightest idea, because one of those who heard her was the sorceress to whom that old spellbook belonged. And because she was a jealous old hag, she devised a way to thwart the girl’s plans.

“However, though she tried and she tried, that sorceress couldn’t find a way to reverse the girl’s transformation. So instead, she cursed her to stay forever on a tiny island , unable to move one foot from its boundaries - unable to even fly with the new wings she’d fought for. And there she stayed, for weeks and months and years, doing the only thing that remained to her; singing. Do you know why sirens sing, Millie?”

Millie moves to shake her head, then stops when the talons dig deeper into her skin. “N-no.”

“To lure prey,” Solange whispers, and at this distance, Millie can clearly see the points of her teeth poking out from behind her lips. “And when I sang, you came to me, rowing through the mists, all wide eyes and blushing cheeks, and oh, you smelled so good, Millie. But there was still too much girl left in me. I wanted to eat you all up, but you smiled at me, and you told me a story, and I wanted a friend more than I wanted a meal. But then you had to go and make me fall in love with you, and what’s worse, you fell right back. What did you do that for, Millie? Sirens don’t need to eat very often, no more than once a decade or so, but I haven’t eaten since I transformed and you were safe as long as you stayed off the island but now -”

“You don’t have to eat me,” Millie gasps, clenching her fists to keep from scrabbling at Solange’s feet. “Let me go and I’ll bring you back food - fish, or gulls, or something - I meant what I said, I want to stay with you, I love you, please, I can -”

“Too late,” Solange says, “I can’t wait any longer,” and when she leans down to kiss Millie, Millie kisses back, even when Solange’s teeth pierce the skin of her lips and blood trickles into her mouth. She kisses her, naive, fumbling, desperate. She kisses her the way she’s wanted to do for weeks, her heart thudding with terror and desire, trying desperately to keep this moment from ending.

“Goodbye,” Solange says, her breath stirring Millie’s hair as she pulls back a few inches only to lean in again, almost tenderly, and sink her teeth into Millie’s throat.

**Author's Note:**

> This is Kay's fault, because I read "was, not is" and was like "THIS IS SO GOOD I NEED TO WRITE MORE DARK!SOLANGE" and then I sat on this for months until it inspired a vampire AU which I wrote instead but hey, now I'm finishing this. Thank you, winter break. 
> 
> As usual, formatting is hella screwed up.
> 
> Title from "One Song Glory" from Rent.


End file.
